


A Slumber of Brambles and Petals

by ImaShayne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fantasy, Female on Male, Fluff, M/M, Male on Male, Medieval, Multi, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original work - Freeform, Romance, Sex, Slash, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, Smut, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaShayne/pseuds/ImaShayne
Summary: A twist on the old tale of sleeping beauty. A younger prince who has fallen from grace is sent on a joke of a quest by his older brothers who seek to shame him, or better yet, kill him. What he finds at the end of his quest is not what he had expected in the slightest. What ensues is a love story for the ages, but not before action, adventure, and hilarity befall this fallen prince and his sleeping beauty.would anyone like to guess at how good at blurbs I am?





	1. Chapter 1

Rowan Juorvyk woke as he normally did, from a nightmare. His body was sweat streaked and shaking. He brought a large hand up to his face, covering his eyes as he struggled to get his breathing under control. Memories, both real and concocted by his mind during slumber, dashed behind his lids.

 

"My Lord."

 

Rowan started, wishing that the sudden voice would dismantle the feeling that was left clinging to him. He sat up straight and turned his head. His squire stood silhouetted in the doorway. "The elders are calling for you."

 

Rowan groaned, Ah, the elders. More likely that his brothers were calling for him, and hiding behind the decrepit old council in an attempt to hide whatever intentions they held for him this time. As he stood the blankets fell down over his large muscular frame pooling onto the floor. A long ragged scar ran from bottom most rib on his left side, jagged across his stomach, cutting chiseled abdomen in half. The disfigurement tapered off just above his right pelvis bone, leading down into the defined v of muscle. He stretched, muscles rippling beneath the sweat glistening skin as he did so and waved the boy over.

 

"So Timothy, what have you heard of our next mission? Are we to ride off to defend a city that has already been lost to the one of our bordering kingdoms? Or are we to perhaps find and slay a unicorn, bring it back to our dear ailing king?"

 

Timothy gulped, surely wondering what it was safe to say as he helped his master prepare for the day.The soft fabric of the tunic went over Rowan's head, settling onto broad shoulders. He flinched when his master spoke of the kings sickness. For it was a taboo to speak of it within the walls of the castle. A curse that would bring his death quicker perhaps.

 

"Well Timothy?" Rowan asked, studying the boy as he adjusted the silver belt.

 

"My lord, it is not for me to say..."

 

"It is if I've asked it of you." Rowan enjoyed teasing the young lad. being the squire of a fallen prince must be hard. And for the moment he kept his irritation at bay. He and his lad had just returned the day previous after all. Would his brother's give him no respite? "I wish to know of the rumors that are spreading."

 

Timothy shook his head, "The only one I have heard is that... for this mission you are going alone..." He quickly looked down, bowing his head. "Though I would never leave your side intentionally sire! I wish only to serve."

 

Rowan harrumphed, but left it as is. He ruffled the boy's soft blond locks. "And to become a knight, correct? It is fine, if they choose to separate us I will gladly sign your service to me complete, sot hat you may move to the next level of your training." Timothy simply nodded."How is the pain today sire?" Timothy asked as he did every day. "The same as always," Rowan sighed, rubbing a hand self consciously across his stomach. He patted the boy on the shoulder briefly before retracting it and running his other hand up through his burgundy hair. The locks were growing longer, and somewhat unruly. Not that he had much of a chance with every quest he was getting sent on to find time and a suitable barber.

 

The passageways were bustling with activity, preparations for the day already well underway. Maids and cooks and squires and butlers. Servants that Rowan new well mixed in with a number of newer fresh looking faces. He tried to ignore all the whispering he had dealt with walking through the halls, his squire looking down. After all it was the norm. Since he'd entered these walls as a young man of 13 his name had been upon the lips of everyone in sight. Whispers that questioned the kings sanity in marrying a mere gypsy woman. Whispers of his own father, long dead. Whispers speaking of how a prince should never be used as a simple pawn. Whispers about why. Rowan had grown used to this type of thing following him around. He'd had too. As a man now of 27 winters the dark haired bastard prince had learned how to smile at the comments, to meet the eyes of whoever spoke them with a challenge in his own.

 

Of course that in itself had made him more enemies than friends.

 

The chambers where the council of elders sat was hot and stuffy, as if by making things more warm they could stave off death which surely waited at the end of each of their beds at night expectantly. The walls were lined with thick red velvet, darkened and eaten with time, though the grandeur wasn't lost.

 

There were 6 of the moth eaten flesh bags sitting about on podiums that rose around the center of the room. Timothy left him at the door as Rowan stepped inside, standing tall, his eyes loosing any sort of shine, every inkling of that challenge. Here was not the place. For behind each elder was one of his step-brothers, pulling invisible strings only Rowan had any idea about. The council was in place as a check against a tyrannical king, only they were worse than any dictator Rowan could imagine, and that was without his dearest brothers manipulating them with promises of yet more power. As if they needed that.

 

His arms went behind his back, right hand clasping tightly onto his left wrist as he stared straight ahead. Awaiting the next orders they had for him. He would follow through with them, regardless of what they were. Silently and without complaint. He had to prove that he belonged here, that his mother belonged there. It didn't matter that it was degrading. That was all he'd known before entering the palace after all.

 

"Prince Rowan of Asmyae-" Said prince struggled not to roll his eyes like an impudent child. But it wasn't likely that he would forget the name of his own country. "You are called forth today..." Rowan's eyes began to glaze over, for the way the old men spoke in their dusty voice, scratching out slowly and deliberately with their tedious honorifics. They followed the same script each time, and honestly Rowan could have lived without the ritual they seemed to put into it.

 

Eventually they got to the point, just as Rowan could feel his body growing numb. His eyes widened with their smug delivery before he turned from them silently, heading back to his rooms to pack.

 

***

 

Rowan lifted his chair and hurled it across the room. It splintered into pieces against the stone wall directly next to his bed and Timothy flinched. Though Rowan paid it no mind. He upturned the desk, hoping that every single servant in the castle could hear this tantrum of his because he wasn't sure if he cared any longer.

 

"S-sire I think-"

 

"I do not care what you think." Rowan interrupted his squire, running a hand back through his sweaty red locks, breath coming to him a bit more labored than usual. He looked around his room. It had not taken long at all to completely destroy it. Hopefully one of his beloved brothers would find it in this state, a good last memory of him for them to hold onto. His fists clenched and he could feel the veins in his arm begin to bulge out.

 

Suddenly he turned to his squire. "Timothy I release you of your duties. You may go down to the barracks and tell the general that you've officially begun your knightly training." He stated swiftly and easily, as if he'd not just acting like a spoiled child. He kept his face passive, the smile on his lips the same as it usually was, distant but playful.

 

Timothy opened his mouth to argue But Rowan held up his hand "It has been a pleasure working with you, and teaching you. I promise that you are ready. Now please.... I have to prepare for my quest." Timothy cringed, but after his three years of service with the fallen prince he knew that it would be pointless to stick around. He bowed, and took his leave.

 

Rowan sighed, took a look around his destroyed quarters, and headed for the closet.

 

From it he pulled a small satchel, and placed within it only a few items of clothing. On his way out he picked up double rations for his journey, still unsure of where he was heading.... away from this waking nightmare was for sure. Rowan was done trying to fit into the royal family.... He refused to chase after a mere /fairy tale/ for their amusement. Even at the memory of the elder's words heat flared through his system.

 

Thankfully the armory within the castle walls was unguarded, so that, instead of grabbing his full suit and tabard that held the kingdom's crest, the depiction of a phoenix rising from flames upon a purple background. He chose simpler ones that held less flare. Deciding on chain mail instead of the heavier plated suit.

 

After that there was only one place left to stop. It was at this point, that if anyone were around to see him, they would have seen the first flicker of doubt enter his eyes, the first flash of worry. He took a deep breath, turning his footsteps reluctantly too the center of the castle main. Entering the thrown room which sat still and empty. In through a back door and into an anti-chamber, where the king and queen's room had been moved.

 

Sitting exactly where he'd seen her last, his mother waited vigil over her sick husband, two of her dark hands grasping one of his pale ones. Her own skin pale in comparison to the chestnut it usually was. Rowan debated calling out to her, walking up and sliding his arms around her in an embrace one last time. But there was no guarantee there would even be a response from her.

 

And so he watched her in silence for a moment, before bringing his calloused fingers up to his lips and sending a blessing to her upon his breath.

 

***

 

He went through the city streets, unsure of where he was heading, but feeling lighter than he had in years. He would find his own quest, his own way, and hopefully his step-brothers would simply think him dead on some unknown road.

 

Rowan passed by only a few places to wish them a fond fair well, garden's and pubs. The final place he hit before he left was the place his mother and he had lived before the King had fallen for her exotic beauty. An old building, falling apart from the foundation up. An old ivy vine, thick and twisting, curled up through the brickwork and seemed to be holding the very structure up anymore.

 

Old Abba stepped from it as if she already knew he was stopping by, which perhaps she had. Her wrinkled skin, thick and course like old beaten leather, hung from a thin frame. Her gray hair was held long, falling down her back in waves of silver. Though there were still a few thick black stripes. Each time Rowan laid eyes on her there was less and less of the beautiful pitch in her locks. And a smile pulled her face upward, crows eyes deep from her long life of strife and happiness.

 

"Oh my child!" She cried out, pulling him into a tight embrace, arms stronger than they appeared. Rowan returned it and before he could open his mouth. Say he couldn't stay long, thank her for everything she'd done for him and his mother all those years ago, her swift voice was already spilling from her knowingly.

 

"I see that you are heading out my dearest." Her voice crackled like fire curling about aged parchment and she was nodding. "Come in come in. Take some hardy bread for the road. Allow me to read the bones for you."

 

"Of course of course..." the man chuckled, knowing exactly how pointless it would be to refuse the old woman. He ducked his head as he entered her abode following her too the table. She motioned for him to sit and he did so, taking the offered cup of strong coffee and swallowing it down. The warmth spreading through his system. It was here, next to the only other person in the entire Kingdom that he considered family, that Rowan felt truly calm after learning from the elder's of his next mission.

 

Abba was bustling about, getting wrapping some of her homemade honey and barley bread in some cloth, before she grabbed an old velvet bag from a shelf that held other items; an milky white orb, a mask that looked to be made of old elk leather, along with the horns of a bull. A number of glass bottles that held different oils and herbs.

 

Rowan was not a believer in the old gods.... or the new ones for that matter. He had not ever once seen magic work in his lifetime. But his Abba was a worker of the craft, and lo any man or woman who thought to argue with her old hide could be sure to have a stint of bad luck, regardless of how it was brought on.

 

The man watched with amusement as she hobbled back over to the table. With a deft strike of a match she lit a tall candle in the middle of the table, stuck there by the wax of those that had gone before it. Into one hand she dumped the bag of bones out, shaking them as one would dice as he looked at Rowan... not quite seeing him, humming lowly under her breath.

 

She thrust her hands outward, releasing the number of small bones that she'd held. Rowan did not know very much about this practice, since he put very little value in it. But he knew that the each piece was a different part from a different animal, a creature of the sky, of the sea, or the forest and of the desert.

 

Abba pulled in a deep breath and her eyes seemed more glazed over. "The path you take will be made of thorns, but worry not Rowan, for once you make your way to the center of this barbed labyrinth, within the castle that reflects the starlight, you will find your beautiful azure rose, and once you do so shall you find your peace."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Rowan _hated_ divination he decided. For as Abba spoke more and more, in her soft cracked voice, it became so clear what she was telling him, in not so many words. That this quest of his, that his family had sent him on, chasing after a fairy tale from another _age_ that was meant to humiliate him when he failed, or perhaps end him completely, was his _destiny_ Rowan thought the word with spite, and if he'd spoken it out loud it probably would have fallen from his lips to poison the very ground. The bones, those old pieces of dusty ivory, apparently had told her that no matter which direction he turned his feet in the path would twist him back to the sleeping beauty.

 

And gods did he want to test that out. But Abba had said the bones held a warning, many warnings. That either way his path would be dangerous, but trying to avoid a _destiny_ (there was that loathsome word again) such as this would be asking for more pain. Abba of course had said nothing of her opinion after the reading. She said that doing so was unprofessional. The bones spoke, and it was up to the seeker to choose which path too follow.

 

Only his path seemed to already be chosen for him. Of course Abba had a bit of advice for that as well, as he headed out the door of her house, hugging her goodbye. "I'll see you again Rowan my child. Just remember that the choice sometimes isn't in the path, but how we choose to feel about it."

 

The scowl upon his face deepened as he stopped by the stable on his way out of town. (It had always been easier to simply house his steed at the edge of town, despite it being a mere commoner's stable, since he never stayed for too long) So basically he was to do as he was told and somehow enjoy it? How immensely helpful.

 

Before he said his final fair well to the older gypsy woman Rowan had joked that perhaps the bone's could tell him where to begin looking. She had simply smiled. "That's not how magic works."

 

Of course it wasn't. Rowan mounted his steed. Wondering where in the world he should head off too first as he kicked his heels into the side and galloped away from the castle.

 

***

 

It had taken Rowan about half a day, and a full blown headache, to figure out that the only real place he could start was the source of this ridiculous mission... the fairy tale. Rowan paid little attention to academics growing up. Being too poor when he was very young, and too busy training to be a prince and a knight after  his mother had married the king. So he did not have any inkling about how fairy tales came to be. Word of mouth for the most part. And he knew that there had once been a pair of brothers who traveled the lands and compiled the folk tales such as these into a book... but he could not remember their names.

 

So the only true answer that came to mind for him was to go to where the books were.

 

Just beneath a half day's ride from the capitol sat the great Corunam Atheneum. The castle was older than the one in which Rowan 'lived' (though he could barely call it that) And showed for it... many of the outer walls lay in ruin. But so long as the books and scrolls within remained unharmed and protected the keepers did not mind. Unlike many other royal places through out the kingdom they gave little about appearance. Their sole priority were the books and the knowledge held therein.

 

The sun sat right above him, beating down a heat that would be dwindling here soon as fall approached the land. The crooked towers had grown steady larger, pulling up from the horizon until he was passing beneath their shadow and into the library proper. His steed's hooves the loudest sound to crack through the otherwise silent courtyard .

 

Rowan dismounted, seeking out someone who could help him. A younger maiden was spotted through a shadowed archway and Rowan raised his hand, deep voice calling out to here. "Wait!" Since his mother's marriage he'd never _felt_ like a prince.... though other's would say quite confidently that he held himself with a certain air of royalty, even before he was such.

 

The woman stalled, her long mousey brown hair swaying with the sudden halt, and she turned, bowing. Rowan scowled, even without his formal wear apparently his features were still recognizable.

 

"Sire how may I be of assistance." She murmured, pushing her thick glasses up her nose as he continued to keep her back bowed.

 

"I am simply looking for some information." He stated, "Could you perhaps help me with that?" Even though he disliked that she remained bent over for his sake, he knew not to correct the behavior any longer. And a charming smile had slid onto his features. (something Rowan honestly couldn't help when dealing with an adorable girl such as herself)

 

She nodded. "One of the grand keepers would be of most help to you my liege, please follow me." She turned and Rowan stepped behind her.

 

The grounds were huge, and despite how used to large grandiose castle's he'd become with their labyrinth like hallways he still found himself getting lost in this maze of stone hallways and wooden shelves lined with books upon books. Her footsteps were light and swift over the cobbled floors, while his own were heavy, chain-male softly clinking with every movement.

 

Eventually, after what seemed like much too long, they came upon a set of large double doors, made from heavy oak. Carved into the dense wood was depictions of great historical events, mythical creatures, and at the top, seemingly writing it al l into existence, a single scribe. The girl knocked gently upon the door and slowly they creaked open.

 

***

 

Rowan did not spend much time in libraries, and so every step he took was quiet, and he was not very sure what to expect from the keepers. They were mostly a quiet bunch, and eager to help, though that didn't make them the most helpful. Especially as time wore on. At first many of the keepers were to be found in his shadow. At every turn of his head they were standing their silently waiting to assist him in any way.

 

Now though months had passed, each coming and going of the ripe moon seeming to mock him as the endless piles of dusty pages sat before him. Rowan had been lead to the horribly extensive section of the library where their collection of mythology and folklore was, though that was all they could do, having little else to go off of. And so Rowan devoured pages upon pages, and the keepers stopped coming to his aid, having their own duties to see too.

 

He would have, perhaps, gone insane, if not for one keeper who stayed by his side through this single trial of his 'great quest.' The mousy haired bookkeeper, who's name had turned out to be Cinder. Who did every night, just as she did on this eve.

 

The end of his reading was marked by her arrival on swift almost unheard feet. Though Rowan had grown used to the soft pad of the slippers the keepers wore through out the castle.

 

Of course Cinder didn't arrive in the distinguished garb of her status. She appeared in his doorway, as he was leaning back away from the candle light and the books, in a sheer night gown. Through the thin fabric the flickering flame's light danced off of her voluptuous breasts, dark outline of her nipples drawn taught against the cloth, the curve that lead downwards to her full hips revealed flesh that was the color of fresh peaches.

 

Already Rowan's manhood was stirring as Cinder stepped into the room, swelling and pressing up against the loose cotton pants he had taken to wearing for the sake of comfort during his studies. They no longer needed words for this endeavor of theirs.... only their first few times had been awkward with her trying to approach him. Before Rowan the girl had been but a virgin, as was the Keeper's oath.

 

Now she made her quiet way over to him, kneeling before his chair as if it were a throne, and kneading his cock through his pants. Rowan however, was not well known for his patience in bed, and roughly slid his calloused fingers back through her plain locks, yanking her head back so that her brown eyes met his own dancing aqua ones. Shifting like water beneath his heavy lashes between green and blue.

 

"Be a good girl and suck." He commanded deeply, voice barely over a growl. They had to keep 'shhshhhh quiet' She nodded her understanding, and Rowan could tell how badly her mouth was watering, yearning for the taste of his essence upon her tongue, for the gulp was audible and as her lips parted saliva stretched between them hungrily. He smirked down at her as she released his throbbing manhood.

 

Cinder was not a brave girl, or an outgoing girl in the slightest, otherwise she would not have been signed over to the services of the great library. No, so she had learned her lesson earlier on with Rowan, not to tease. Swiftly she gulped his cock down, the hand in her hair guiding her head fully upon his length. Rowan bit his lip hard to keep back the low moan of bliss as he was engulfed in that wet heat. He pumped his hips up into her and Cinder closed her eyes to keep her focus on the salty taste of his skin, of the musky smell that rushed up to meet her as his ego grew in her mouth.

 

This was truly the _only_ way for Rowan to relieve his stress. He was a warrior, and despite wanting a bit of down time where he wasn't sent to run crazy quests for his elder brothers this was too much for him. His lips turned up in a scowl, this wasn't enough for him yet. Rowan needed more.

 

He released Cinder's hair and the girl backed off his cock, coughing and gasping for air. Rowan chuckled. "Don't pretend that hurt.... why don't you show me how wet you are?" She nodded, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand before standing. Even before the girl lifted the translucent gown Rowan could already _see_ the shine between her thighs as the candlelight reflected off of the slicked release of the girl.

 

Rowan's deep laughter rumbled the air. "Did you already cum?" Cinder's cheeks were as red as flames and she nodded. He tilted his head. "Show me."

 

She lifted the light as air cloth from her shoulders, so that she was completely naked, (having learned that Rowan liked to rip clothing from body) Though Cinder was still very shy, there were some things Rowan had been able to teach her. She ran her hands down her body, making sure to jostle her breasts, fingers running past the nipples, over the slightly rounded stomach, combing through her darker pubic hairs, before coming to rest between her thighs.

 

She plied the flesh apart and hesitated only a moment before she began to slide a finger up between her folds, biting her lips.

 

Rowan was used to being with .... women who knew the art of their own body, and so did not bother to prepare his chosen bedmates at any given time. Cinder had learned the hard way to prepare herself.

 

Rowan's eyes flashed dangerously.... this was trying his patience, watching as the woman slid two more fingers up into herself, the liquid of her lustful essence dripping down freely between her thighs, stringing between them.

 

Rowan's own calloused hand closed around the base of his throbbing cock, precum already dribbling down his impressive length. Slowly he began to pump himself, watching as the girl before him began to quiver with her need.

 

"If you want it so bad come and ride it." He growled out.

 

Cinder practically tripped on her way to him, sliding her legs open on either side of Rowan's lap. Rowan's thick fingers dashed to her hips to steady her, the wooden chair was not the steadiest of things. Her own hands went to his shoulders and she dipped her head. Rowan looked up at her for a moment a smile in his eyes. "Well come on. Move for yourself."

 

Cinder bit her bottom lip, closing her eyes before she lowered herself over his length. Rowan's head fell back as her tightness surrounded his cock, sucking in more and more of his girth. The heat and wetness so much better than her mouth.

 

But Cinder still held no technique in her naive body. And Rowan was no teacher. His fingers sank into her pliable flesh, no longer willing to wait for her body to grow used to his size. His booted feet braced upon the floor and he bucked his hips suddenly, sheathing himself completely within her tight muscled pussy.

 

He circled his arms around her, fingers pressing down against her shoulders to drag her against each thrust. As she was bounced in his lap her hands began to wander, playing over his neck and kneading into his shoulder, traveling down his front. It was when her curious fingers began to lift his shirt that Rowan paused, growling. A large hand closed over her smaller one. "Don't." he warned simply, before he again picked up his page. Rowan buried his face in her bouncing tits, closing his eyes and keeping his moans trapped within him.

 

It was almost too frustrating to be worth it Rowan found himself thinking at times. It was the quietest sex he'd ever had, and that in itself was maddening. She made no noise, and each of his own movements was marred by the constant effort of keeping his own voice down.

 

The speed of his pistoning hips grew, the creaking of the wooden chair the loudest thing in the room.

 

***

 

Rowan's tired eyes almost missed the words that he read, in an ancient language that he barely held a coherent grasp on. (Reference books and ciphers lay open right next to him)The words would have truly gone by unnoticed if it was not for the strange picture of a blue rose painted right next to it, and Rowan remembered Abba's words.

 

Thorns curled around the page and beneath his gaze they seemed to grow and twist through the words. Rowan blinked tiredly, rubbing at his eyes, before taking a look at the page again.

 

The passage was short. It only spoke of ruins of a great and old kingdom. Excitement, a small stirring of it, like the way wind picks up slightly just as the seasons begin to change from one to another, flourished with in him. Flicking his eyes back and forth between the cipher and the ancient tome Rowan gathered a fairly good assumption of _where_ these ruins just might be.

 

He jumped up. The keepers startled as Rowan rushed past them, pulling down as many maps as he could reach. Maps of his kingdom, of those surrounding them. New maps and old maps that showed old boundaries and how the world had once been in eras past. For the rest of the morning Rowan poured over these maps, using the book as reference.

 

His heart fell slightly, when the prince noted that it _appeared_ that these ruins.... at least the memory of these ruins seemed to be awfully close to the boarder of Ti-lytha, the second largest country that neighbored his own. The treaties that had been sent forth to them had not been returned, the emissaries also.

 

In his time within the Royal family There had been many wars fought, but the Ti-lytha peoples were by far the greatest threats to peace. Both armies guarded their boarder's with vigor, mercilessly. But it was where his final goal was. and though Rowan did not enjoy war, it had been so long, the days within these plain stone walls blurring together. Any change of pace was welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

 

And so Rowan prepared for the second leg of his journey, stocking his supplies and riding out, happily putting Cinder and her quiet love making behind him. As he kicked his steed into a gallop, heart racing forward, his mind outlined the trail he'd made for himself. He'd had to over lay a few maps, to see what was around the area now. What had once been these mythical 'ruins' now sat a wide forest. Continents had shifted, and to the east great mountains had been pushed up and out of the earth in the last hundred or so years. Nomads had moved, settled, and moved again in the surrounding areas. Cities had been built up and ransacked. So much history lay in the land itself that it was no wonder something like a fairy tale could be buried.

 

While he'd been in the library Rowan had kept his mind away from the folk aspect of what his quest was.... wondering where the truth could lie... wondering what would be waiting for him at the end of this chase. He honestly didn't know. The few nights he'd not been so tired to simply just fall into the hard beds at the library and into slumber swiftly Rowan's mind had wondered. Feelings so entwined with each other he had a hard time separating them had filled him on those nights. Confusion and rage, curiosity and even, though he was loathe to admit it.... hope.

 

Though Rowan did not hold on tightly to the beliefs of his kingdom, nor the old superstitions of his people Abba had always seemed more otherworldly to him. Her words weighed him down. The fallen prince often wondered where he would be if the old gypsy woman hadn't spoken at all of what the bones had foretold.

 

Surely not riding towards a town that was full of thieves and felons on the run from both sides of the boarder.... surely he would not have spent the last few months in a stuffy old castle filled with dusty ancient books and claiming a keeper of words in his bedchambers....

 

If anything Rowan would have traveled south as the cold weather set in. But within the walls and surrounded by books he'd not noticed as the warmth left the land, as the animals began to sleep or migrate, as the leaves changed color and began to fall.

 

Now all of the trees that flashed past him as he rode were barren and skeletal.

 

***

 

Rowan continued to push his horse well after the sun had set, not wanting to stop or make camp.... for two days he drove the poor beast, finally having to rest.

 

In all it took a full week to finally make it to the area mentioned by the book. Rowan had dealt with Royal guards (which was about to the time he started to hide anything and everything that tied him to the crown in the slightest, making sure to always be a bit dirtier than necessary to hide his features as well) bandits, and a number of odd caravans, performers and merchants and all of the like.

 

These were the type of people he wished he could live around, the kinds of people he had grown up with. Their warmth and traditions were beautiful to be apart of, and Rowan stayed with them for as long as he could on the journey.

 

Eventually the mountains rose in the east, and Rowan knew he was there. It wasn't until the moon, full and bright, was rising at his back that the fallen prince spotted, upon the darkened horizon, the line of a dense unwelcoming forest. A few hours later as his sight was beginning to blur with the type of exhaustion that only the rode could bring, an edge of gray appeared before the blackened wood.... a small town that was careful not to breach the thick timbers.

 

Rowan practically fell from his horse when he disembarked outside of the local tavern. The sign was so worn by wind and grime he couldn't make out the name, nor any depiction upon the dingy gray plank. When he slammed through the door heavily, all wind and snow and raggedy cloak, not a single head turned his way. The people of this place that was stuck in between were used to seeing strangers.

 

A bar wench who stood at about 5 foot nothing, and was perhaps equally as wide, lead Rowan to a small round table that was _unfortunately_ in the middle of the room. The man would have much preferred a nice dark corner where he could see but not be seen.... apparently the room was full of that type however. So instead of keeping his eyes up and shifting Rowan kept his ears open as he ordered a steamed ale and a roast.

 

"So another search party has gone out huh? Don't they know they're just gonna be lost to the woods too?"

 

"Fools."

 

"That makes four months in a row though, where more n more people has just gone missin."

 

"Perhaps the orcs or goblins er back.... takin those who wander n eatin em up."

 

"What are you a papa? Tellin children's tales, probably more bandits jus comin through and the unlucky run inta them. Who else would brave the brambles?"

 

Rowan tried to catch more of the snippets around him, but with the warmth of fermented golden wheat coursing through him and the weight of his very bones pulling him down he had to call it a night. He paid for a room at the inn next door, connected by a single narrow hallway, and slept like the beauty he was supposed to be rescuing.

 

***

 

While Rowan was dubious about magic he actually knew quite a bit about creatures.... beasts that many thought to simply be tales to scare children at night (though most of these people who only said that monsters were for those gullible young ones also looked over their shoulder's when moving through the woods after dark, and placed the wards purchased from local hedge witches and holy men upon their doors and above their windows)

 

Rowan had hunted creatures, it was one of the easiest ways his brothers could think of to kill him. Royalty, or every kingdom, creed, and dynasty, knew of certain creature's existence, because some of their lineage was held within the blood of thins like sphinxes and griffins, some had trophies of the scales or heads of dragons and wyverns.

 

Creatures were left over remnants of how the world had been before the rise of man. And Rowan had been sent forth to eradicate much of those long forgotten fragments. He'd gone deep into mountain caves in search of wyrms. He'd sailed across oceans to bring back the heads of mer-kin and the captured voices of sirens. Each as proof for his brothers, each as proof for himself. Each time his sword swung and snuffed the life of a supposedly immortal being Rowan had told himself that he was going to be good enough for the crown, he was going to earn his way into the family. He did not have the benefit of love as his mother did, he had to reap this on his own....

 

Only the time had never come. The seven elder brothers sent him to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, of the world, they sent him to join allied armies to fight in wars that were not their own, sent him to win back cities that had been lost to the boarders of time and bloodshed, that their kingdom only had a tedious claim on.

 

So when Rowan prepared he made sure to wear the heavy chain mail beneath the heavy cloak, made sure that he had sharpened his many smaller knives and daggers, both hidden and not, and carried not only the blades that had never failed him, but his sturdy boy and bundle of arrows.

 

He couldn't take his horse, the steed shied as soon as they entered the shade of the trees, which of course was never a good sign. Rowan found a grove of sturdy young oaks and tied the horse there, making sure the knot was loose enough.... if he did not return the animal would not die in wait. And entered the closely growing trees alone.

 

There was no set path, no space cleared by other travelers. It seemed as if those who traveled through here wished not to be seen, hoped to be lost. The bark seemed to have been drained of color as much as the leaves had leaving behind graying husks that looked back beneath the deeper shades. The branches that diverged from each trunk grew so gnarled and compacted it seemed as if the wild wood were simply one single tree stretching out and out almost endlessly. The skeletal boughs, despite their nakedness, still blocked out the sun and Rowan felt as if he were moving through something of an endless night.

 

Keeping his bow out and one arrow knocked in ready Rowan did not bother trying to hack and slash his way through the undergrowth, he simply pushed through anything in his way. Though as he moved there didn't seem to be anything amiss about this forest that would separate it from any other, besides the atmosphere of bleakness, which could have easily been brought on simply by the season and nothing more. The same amount of small animal sounds and signs of life surrounded him. The scurrying of rabbits and game, the flitting of wings as birds were started from a nearby cosp. Around Rowan the forest breathed.... it would not be doing this had there been monsters afoot.

 

By mid afternoon his body was aching, any naked flesh whipped against by sharp twigs and snapping lower shoots. Sweat was running freely down his torso, dripping into his eyes. Rowan cursed under his breath, pulling his arrow out of the string and placing the wood between his teeth so that he could wipe his arm across his brow.

 

Rowan reached out to push back at a rather thick branch, instantly withdrawing his hand with a hiss. His eyes flicked down in irritation to note the thorn that had stuck quite deep into the palm of his hand. With a small 'tsk' the prince slung the string of his bow across his shoulder. With no hesitation he pulled the brier out, swiftly ripping a piece of fabric from his cloak and wrapping it.... if there truly were any sort of monsters that stalked through the heavy gloom the forest provided (which Rowan was keen to believe there _was_ it was the perfect type of place that bread all sorts of ill tempered devils) then the scent of blood was not something he'd like to be carrying around with him. Drawing _them_ to him.

 

Rowan's eyes scanned over the branch he'd just wrapped his hand around... and circling over its rough bar was a number of vines, all with those same thorns sticking out from it. Rowan was no horticulturalist, nor gardener of any sort, but to him the way the dark vines curled around each other, the thorns pricking out and curving upwards.... looked like the creeping tendrils of a rose bush.

 

Rowan's brow furrowed in thought, before he turned his steps, following where this path of barren thorns led him.

 

About fifty paces past the tree and Rowan was waist deep in the brambles, and the vines were growing thicker and higher with each step, the trees around him now choked with the other plant. He thanked the gods he'd thought to wear his armor. Rowan saw no roses blooming.... then again he wouldn't would he? Not with winter setting in so heavily.

 

As he moved Rowan was forced to put his bow and arrows away and un-sheath a short sword. He worked tirelessly, knowing that he only had a few hours of daylight left, and that he could not turn around now. He cut away at the brittle vine and took another step forward, only for his boot to kick against something other than the hard ground or thick roots of shrubbery.

 

His eyes darted from the mass of twisting vines before him, landing on the form of a young girl wearing nothing more than a night gown. Her hair was braided down her back and she seemed to simply be sleeping.

 

Instantly Rowan dropped down to his knees, back of his hand brushing past her pale cheeks. Her small chest rose and fell slowly, signaling that she was indeed alive, and though she lay beneath the heavy thorns held up by such frozen twists of leaf and greenery there were no scratches upon her body.... her cheek was chilled, but not nearly as cold as Rowan's own fingers. In fact she felt almost warm in comparison.

 

His burgundy brows drew together in confusion.... how was that possible? Before Rowan recalled the ambiguous and dark conversations he'd overheard the previous night. Was this girl one of the many missing from the village? Rowan clenched his jaw in thought, wondering what in the world he should do with the child.... she seemed fine where she was, and he could not very well simply carry her.... could he? No no who knew how much farther he had to travel? "Oi, little one..." He murmured, shaking her shoulders... but she would not rouse.

 

But he could not leave her there in good conscious. Rowan growled in frustration, lifting her carefully and carrying her back over to where there were no thorns. As he laid the child carefully upon the hard ground. From his shoulders he unclasped his cloak, placing it over her body.

 

As he again began through the brambles it was with renewed vigor. Though it seemed as if the vines had grown back in place where he'd hacked away at them.

 

Hours passed in this manner, and in that span of time the prince found 4 more bodies, all of the people of varying ages, one more female, the others male. And like the little girl, Rowan was unable to wake them.

 

Which, as he thought about it, made a twisted sort of fairy tale sense didn't it? His eyes danced brightly in his frustration. Was he truly to find a sleeping princess at the end of this path of thorns?

 

Rowan swung his sword with extra vehemence behind the movement, and it struck against stone hidden behind the thick growth. His eyes widened and, putting the sword back upon his hip, Rowan moved the vines away, ignoring how his hands grew bloody as more scratches were gouged into them.

 

The fallen prince had found his ruins, the ones his ancient book had spoken of. Rowan leaned to the side, scanning the area, nature had truly taken back her land with unstoppable ease. It appeared that where Rowan stood was an outer wall. With growing difficulty he moved around the crumbling walls of walls, outer buildings for what could have been servants or the guards quarters.

 

So caught up in his own laborious work Rowan failed to notice how quiet the woodlands had grown, how the rustling of grass and underbrush had faded to nothing, and how the entirety of the wild seemed to hold his breath.

 

Rowan did not notice this, at least, until the moment before he heard a very _distinct_ disgruntled displacement of air, as if something large was snorting. The unsettling sound came from behind him and Rowan closed his eyes for a moment, changing his hold upon the short sword in his hand and taking a deep breath.

 

The ground shook as whatever was behind him charged. With ease he dodged out of the way, ignoring the warmth he felt upon his cheeks as those thorns tore at the skin there.

 

Rowan's eyes landed on a monstrously sized ogre, it's skin the color of mottled flesh. It's back was bent and knotted, muscles and spines lumping awkwardly. Each arm was like a club that hung longer in proportion to its body, dragging along the ground. Its yellowed eyes were almost too big for it's small skull, and rolled about chaotically for a moment until landing upon Rowan. The fallen prince set his shoulders, reaching with his free hand down to pull out the hefty broadsword. He kept his gaze, which had turned into a cold steely azure, upon the monster, not making any unnecessary moves until he absolutely had too.

 

He needn't tire out his body after all, it was already there.

 

Again the creature charged, but this time, instead of simply dodging completely out of the way, Rowan sidestepped, bringing his sharpened iron up with as much force as he could muster. Ogre's hide was known for being thick.... but it was no dragon's scales and the sharpened edge split through flesh and muscle.

 

Swiftly Rowan spun, making sure to stay out of the ogre's grasp, his other arm swinging about and lodging the shorter blade in the already floundering creatures side.

 

The ogre's blood was a putrid green and as it fell to the vines steam rose from them. Rowan realized that they were burning. An acrid stench rose around him. But the warrior had smelled much worse in his many times in battle.

 

Ogre's were not known for their ease to kill, and suddenly, with more speed and strength than Rowan would have thought the beast had left, it spun, muscled arm so knotted it was like a boulder slamming into him sent Rowan flying, he rolled through the tangle of thorn and vine, side battering into a wall, crumbling the ancient stone completely.

 

Without time to feel the pain Rowan jumped to his feet. Thankfully the hit had sent him a good distance away (he tried to be a cup half full kind of prince) and he dropped his blades. Before they even hit the ground Rowan had pulled his bow up, knocked an arrow snugly into the cord and pulled back. In a single breath he'd released, and the whistle of wood and feather and slim sharpened flint of metal lasted only another more before it split through one of those sickly eyes.

 

The roar it let loose startled a flock of small gray birds who'd been too frightened to move previous to this. Rowan didn't stop... if he had been younger he might have, but he knew that beings such of this could not be taken lightly.

 

And so his body dove for one blade, quickly rolling from the ground and standing. He held the hilt with both of his hands, running towards the pain crazed beast who was now thrashing, it's voice rising. Until it was suddenly cut off. Rowan had thrust his sword upward, with the momentum of his tensed muscled, the coil of his biceps releasing, added to his running start the blood slicked metal had slid easily through the flesh at the ogre's neck. He quickly sliced to the side, grunting as the bone resisted the severing.

 

Rowan jumped back quickly as the monster toppled to the side. He had avoided the creature's crushing weight but had not been fast enough. The ogre's acidic blood had splashed over his armor, and a bit of exposed skin.

 

But the beast was dead, and that was all that mattered. Now more than ever his sore muscles screamed. And if not for the adrenaline that still pumped through out his body Rowan knew exhaustion would be pulling down at him.

 

Rowan knew he couldn't rest, and so he made his way deeper into the grounds finding that, at the center of these maze like crumbling stones, was a large castle, the mason work going up and up and up against the sky. Though the trees in this seemingly ancient forest rose just as high, hiding this view from anyone simply traveling by it... if one was not looking for the odd (who would while in the woods, most trying to make it through as quickly as possible) then they would pass this by blindly.

 

Through the gray bricks more of the thorned vines crawled, tearing the structure apart slowly and inevitably, as only nature can. The man didn't take long looking at the beauty of it, the pure and utter encompassing awe, like some would have. He was only here for one reason, and he swiftly found the door in the moss covered edifice. As he slammed his shoulder against the swollen planks they splintered and he dashed into the caste.

 

Just as the outskirts of these ruins, the inside of this castle had been built almost like a maze, and Rowan sought through every single room thoroughly, finding only much of the same. Vines that stretched on endlessly, thorns that gave his body nor armor any reprieve, wearing him down, catching at his clothing with every step, as if they were doing their best to hold him back, their utmost to keep him from their treasure.

 

Rowan paused in honest surprise for a moment.... he'd thought for a moment that whatever was at the end of this path was a..... treasure? This entire time the man had simply been begrudgingly going through the motions, only Abba's frustrating prophecy pushing him to finish as he could so simply get it over with, so that his damn life could move on! Rowan had never once believed that he'd find the sleeping princess at the end of this hellish journey, and once he'd proven too himself that magic of any sort, divination, spells that put people to sleep for eras, he could go back to his original plan.

 

But with each obstacle that had risen in his path it had begun to solidify a thought within Rowan that he'd not even been aware of until this moment.... that there   _had_ to be something at the end of this.... there had to be the beautiful princess laying in her bed of roses. Because there was a knightly belief within him that for a reward to be truly spectacular the effort put into receiving it would have to also be spectacular.... and he'd put quite a bit of time, sweat and now blood into this quest of his.

 

Abba's words rang in his head. 'You will find your peace.'

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Rowan sped up his pace. Every room, every closet, every pantry crack and anti chamber, searched. From bottom to top. There were some areas where the stairs had so deteriorated that Rowan had to leap or climb.

His breath was coming to him in great gasps as he reached the top but still there did not seem to be any sign of life. Rowan was now at the top of the highest tower. And, just as what should befit a fallen prince, had nothing to show for it. He cursed under his breath, turning to make his way back to the stairs, but a light glistened from out side of the window at the end of the curving hallway....There was a door, that he'd almost missed.... that lead out to a balcony.

Almost as if he were in a dream Rowan had walked over to the window, stepping through the frame (for whatever glass had been there had been shattered by nature) The wind whipped coldly at his face from the high place he stood at, howling around the towers, and the forest lay out beneath him. If he'd been a man afraid of heights he might have passed out on the spot... but as it stood he wasn't, and only one thing held his gaze.

Upon the roof of the great castle, out on this precarious balcony, was a glass dome... made of something stronger than what had been used by the rest of the castle.... or perhaps fortified by magic. Within green things had filled up and pushed out, leaves from the vines so bright that, against the gray of the world around him the sudden shoots of color hurt his eyes. He stepped over to the side of it, placing his hand gently upon the glass, eyes seeking out what was within. His heart pounding so loudly in his ears it was the only thing he could hear. The glass gave way, as if it had been waiting for his touch. 

Rowan stepped through this as well. Instantly the warmth of a spring day tingled against his freezing skin. As he neared the center of this strange architecture made of glass and seemingly nothing more he started to notice small sprigs and buds of small blue flowers... until there was nothing but the color blue surrounding him.

Roses, the sweet aroma filled his nose. And before him, upon a beautifully arranged four poster bed with shimmering gold and silver cloth draping downwards like a stage about to reveal its most important performance in a lifetime, lay a figure of breathtaking elegance. 

Her hair was black and cropped close to her face, framing the moon pale visage perfectly. Cheeks were painted with a light blush, giving a warmth to the room that outshone even the roses. Black pearls shone opalescent in her hair. Rowan's eyes began to travel down her beautiful body, but stopped as they landed upon the upper torso. 

His eyes, which now mirrored the cerulean blue of the roses around him widened and Rowan dropped down beside the bed. Every thought process he had stopped for a moment. Frozen in place, staring down at the other upon the bed, the sleeping beauty.

And then he perhaps did the one thing that would have had anyone around him cursing his lack of candor. Rowan lifted the shirt on the sleeping beauty. Still cold hand reaching beneath the fabric and groping at the very flat chest. The stomach didn't hold any muscle tone, and the shoulders were slim, but the chest was not the chest of a princess, unless that princess also happened to be younger than 10. Which this sleeping beauty obviously wasn’t Gritting his teeth as reality began to break through this dream like space Rowan's hand traveled roughly down to where the crotch would be beneath the blankets. And there he felt the definite bulge of a penis. Instantly Rowan snatched his hand back

The gods Rowan did not hold faith in were obviously pulling a prank on him. Or they had simply chosen to curse him for his lack of belief. 

What a befitting thing for a fallen prince.

Rowan placed his elbows upon the soft bed, head dropping into his hands as his exhaustion tugged further on him.... he felt like he could just simply sleep.... right there, next to the beautiful prince.

It was probably that thought alone that forced him to move. Cosmic joke or not he would now bring this brat to his family, show them that he had done EXACTLY what they had asked for. Show them that at least in part, them sending him on a joke quest such as this had backfired.

Rowan stirred, hands sliding down his face. He felt the thick stubble that he had allowed to grow during his travels. "Oi boy." He snapped voice more of a growl than he'd meant it to be, and slapped the side of the other's face. 

Of course the boy didn't stir. A scowl passed over Rowan's face and he moved onto the bed, lifting the slight prince easily by the shoulders and giving him a light shake, again calling out to him. But just as the unknown people he'd found tangled in the rose vines this boy did not rouse. Rowan scowled, standing and lifting the prince into his arms. He weighed even less that Rowan had expected he would. He fit perfectly in the other's arms. The covers fell away from his form and Rowan noted the clothing style from era's past. Loose fitting night ware that flowed from his thin form beautifully. It felt strange, carrying the other so delicately, as if he were a princess, and for a moment Rowan considered carrying the young man over his shoulder, but no.... this was fine for now... he would only switch his hold if need be back through the forest.

Grumbling Rowan knelt again and picked up the blankets... outside of this place was still winter after all.

As he stepped from the glass enclosure he heard a rustling. When Rowan turned the leaves and petals lost their color, withering in an instant before his very eyes.

***

It somehow took longer to make it back to town, despite knowing his way, despite not having to be on the lookout for beasts of the wild or of the other world. Despite not fighting a damn ogre. But make it back to town he did. He traveled through the night, and in total had been away for 2 days.

Rowan had been met with a slight conundrum, the other sleeping people who had been found.... and perhaps the countless others that were sill lost within the bramble forest. Rowan knew he couldn't very well carry all of them. And so he'd gathered them in a small huddle up against a tree, making sure he simply moved the prince around in his own arms. Rowan then removed his cloak and placed it over as many of them as he could, making sure the children at least would wake warm.

Rowan burst through the doors of the inn, and again no one raised their heads. Even with the beautiful boy in his arms.

"Inn keep!" Rowan's voice boomed through the small front of the house. The slight man who had checked Rowan three nights previous scurried around the counter, shooing a few other weary travelers from the couch. They shot glares at Rowan but the large knight returned them in kind, and there were no complaints. 

"What have we here?" The small voice asked and Rowan carefully placed the prince upon the worn cushions. 

"I found him passed out in the woods." Rowan lied easily, brushing back some of the pitch black hair from the other's forehead, hand freezing in it's place when he realized that he'd done it.

The inn keep nodded. "And have you tried rousing him?"

"Of course I have!" Rowan snapped. The man just nodded. 

"I have some smelling salts that just might do the trick." He muttered, standing and heading into the back. Rowan stayed kneeling next to the sleeping beauty, studying his face. He barely noticed the inn keeper's return until the strong stink hit his nose, making his eyes water. Rowan turned away, bringing a hand up to his mouth.

Even still the sleeper did not flick an eye behind his resting lids. He laid still and breathed deeply. Rowan cursed under his breath and the other man shook his small bottle, confusion clear on his face. "That's strange this usually does the trick..." He murmured standing and looking down at Rowan. "I shall see if I can fetch the healer, they might know what is wrong."

Rowan hoped so. For his mind was scouring the knowledge of this legend while he'd watched the other man work, and his thought had halted on one thing he'd read about this 'sleeping beauty' 

The passage that had stated in non too uncertain terms: "And too wake the princess from her slumber, a single kiss from her one true love..." 

Rowan closed his eyes, bringing his hands up to rub at his temples. What utter nonsense. Other texts had said that the princess would simply wake dammit! 

Then again none of the few tomes he'd found that pertained to this myth had stated once that it would be a sleeping prince he would find.

Rowan opened his lids tiredly, looking over at the boy. "Just wake up brat." He growled. 

Sleeping beauty did not stir, and too tired to think about a solution to this Rowan's mind began to wander.... The boy truly was a beauty. His lashes were so long they brushed against his rosy cheeks. His lips were a gentle pink, like freshly budding strawberries, and were parted ever so slightly as those deep breaths pulled into his body. Smooth skin that had been as soft as silk too touch when Rowan had tried to wake him earlier. A petite nose that was slightly upturned at the very end. His face was rounded, the curve of his chin womanly.

Rowan licked his lips as his eyes took in more and more with each passing moment of silence.

Those black locks, shining like the wings of a raven, with the green and blue hues of the pearls glinting in the warm light of the many candles around him. His neck, so elegantly melding into pale shoulders.

Before he realized his intent or actions Rowan had dipped his head, chapped lips pressing against the boy's oh so soft ones.

It was so strange, though the boy's skin was cooler than his own, the lips held a warmth to them that someone who had been sleeping for so long should not hold. Beneath Rowan's own they felt as silk would, or the petal of a rose. And that same smell, from those beautiful sapphire roses that had surrounded the boy as he'd slept, still clung around him, to his clothes and his hair.

 

Rowan's eyes had fallen closed. Rowan's shoulders slumped slightly as he began to pull away. But he froze as he felt the chilled touch of supple fingertips, softer than any woman who'd ever caressed him, run down along the line of his jaw, disturbing the course hairs that had grown there. (he had last shaved at the library after all) Rowan couldn't help the shiver that rolled down his body and his eyes snapped open.

 

Silver orbs that looked like the moon on high through clouds met his blue green gaze and Rowan's body jumped lightly, though his head stayed bowed over the not so sleeping beauty, and the gentle breaths that had been coming through his nose could now be felt, panting lightly, up against Rowan's now moist lips. It smelled sweet, as if he'd just been eating some pastry or cake. 

 

The boy stared, still half lidded eyes swirling with the remnants of the long sleep he'd just woken from, searching Rowan's eyes for an answer that he did not have. And still the fallen prince stayed immobile, thoughts not quite catching up with what his body had done, enthralled by the argent gaze that held him.

 

It was as the beauty's eyes widened, a sudden since of understanding flashing across them, that Rowan slowly began to swim back to himself. The pale cheeks, previously dusted with a natural blush began to burn, red spreading like paint across the smooth cream of the boy's flesh. Rowan felt a single drop of liquid fire slide down from his throat as he swallowed hard. It fell down through his torso and swirled in his lower abdomen. It was a sensation he'd never experienced before, but he could easily pinpoint the cause. (though exhaustion still kept the full view of what he'd just done from him)

 

The beauty's reaction had been a surprise. A good surprise. An innocent surprise. The light touch of the boy's hand was still upon Rowan's cheek, and he found himself pressing into it with more sequacity than he had ever shown another human. 

 

Though as the boy surged forward in a sudden move it was Rowan's turn to widen his eyes in surprise, and due more so to his fatigue than anything else the man let his baser instincts take over the movement of his body. With those soft lips once more against his own Rowan's own response quickly outmatched the amount of press upwards against him, pushing the other down. Both of his calloused hands cupped the beauty's face, lifting the chin slightly as he turned his head. Again his own body seemed to move more on it's own desires than any thought process that lead it. Rowan surged up from the kneeling position he'd been in, now hovering over the other as he sat on the edge of the couch where the beauty still lay. One hand moved to the side of the other's head to brace him as he leaned heavily downward, torso twisted. The other slid down the slender neck and around to the back of it, dirty blood coated fingers tangling in the thick soft locks at the base.

 

Rowan tilted his head, tongue sliding past his own lips and up against the others, the taste of sugar growing stronger as he pressed past, not waiting for any sort of invitation. Delving into the warm wet cavern of the other's mouth, his tongue exploring, running across the teeth and beneath the other's tongue he pulled it up, sucking it into his own mouth.

 

The prince was not known for idle hands, and so even though he wished to pull the other up and continue roughly running his fingers through the beauty's hair he didn't, instead getting to what was honestly one of his favorite parts.

 

Rowan's hand ran down from the other's neck, making sure to tug lightly at the hairs before his fingers freed them, over the shoulder, tracing the line of clavicle before dipping down into the subtle curve of breast....

 

Only there was nothing there.

 

Rowan jolted his body back, breaking the kiss. His momentum carrying him into a standing position as he looked down at the boy.... it was still a boy! In his exhaustion he'd forgotten, in the sudden wave of want that had coursed through him when those otherworldly eyes had locked upon him Rowan had followed more what his body pushed for him to do than his mind. Still it was like those silver eyes were calling too him.

 

Kissing the sleeping beauty had felt so right. It had felt perfect, and Rowan tried to forget how sweet the boy had tasted. But his lips still tingled with the press.

 

Rowan's chest was rising and falling rapidly and he cursed under his breath, bringing a hand up to wipe the back of it across his mouth. It wasn't as if he were a blushing virgin. There had many lips against his own. Lips more full and luscious, lips that tasted like tobacco, like ale, like rogue. But never the lips of another man.

 

"Ah I see the boy has woken." Rowan's body spun at the innkeeper's voice, hand falling down to the hilt of his sword more out of habit than anything else, though he could feel adrenaline running through his veins again, and would have welcomed a fight to distract him. "How ever did you manage that sir Knight? Those smelling salts had some of the strongest-"

 

"What does it matter how he woke?" Rowan snapped, making sure not to look at the boy who still lay across the couch. 

 

The innkeeper's lips grew thin from having been interrupted and he nodded. "Yes, there is that point.... however you should probably still have the healer here take a look at him." An old man stepped forward and Rowan simply nodded, taking a step back. With other people around him it gave the fallen prince a moment longer to regain himself. Kissing a boy! Where had his wits gone?

 

***

 

In the deep forest a number of people blinked, yawning and stretching their stiff and sore bodies widely. The ones who leaned against one another looked dazedly between the faces of strangers, while the many still trapped by the brambles had to shake off the thorns that held them, the brittle cold making it that much easier to push free.


End file.
